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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805232">Pouring for the Perfect</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Botanphal/pseuds/Botanphal'>Botanphal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hollow Knight (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:15:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>611</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805232</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Botanphal/pseuds/Botanphal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A imperfect vessel hides a story inside their shell, awaiting for someone to free them from their cursed form.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pouring for the Perfect</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I love the Broken Vessel,, they deserve much more recognition and I wanted to write about them—also fun story I had started this but didn’t save it so I had to start over so that’s epic, I don’t wanna give up on them though so here I am working on it again</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No breeze crawled through the still air. The walls were intricate by design, ancient with indentations of history and a society that once thrived in the deep depths.</p><p>The room was silent, other than the repetitive beating of a corrupted heart. Echoing, rotting away the beautiful architecture by the plague it carried.</p><p>Spherical orange pustules made the desolate room uncomfortably warm with every pulse, stark contrast as the area was once cold and empty.</p><p>Inside the room was a peculiar being. They adorned a pale navy cloak over a body that was once organic but corrupted by void, above a pale face with a large open fracture followed by two horns of varying lengths.</p><p>Blank empty eyes gazed into the stone etched flooring, slumped over and crooked. Staring at the floor was perfect for such a corpse to eternally eye, to forever ponder on who or what created it.</p><p>There was unrest about them, however. Forever yearning, their spirit begged for silent freedom. The void inside was still living, fighting, coursing through their veins but they were long gone.</p><p>They had been in that room for so long, waiting for the solace of release. From afar, a strange sound slowly approached. Tapping, stepping, nearing closer and closer.</p><p>The once stillness of the air became thick. Beings who required breath would choke as another entered the room.</p><p>A small statured vessel, akin empty eyes and pale face along with cloak. Younger, undeveloped curved horns that ended with smoothed points.</p><p>They had seen and committed horrid acts about the plagued kingdom. The air they dragged reeked of a unspeakable story, that had yet to end. They proved it by slowly withdrawing the nail from their back.</p><p>The being lacked hesitance despite their readied nail, picking their way past the shell. Their path was however blocked by the infectious bubbles, turning back the door they had entered from was locked.</p><p>Steady rumbling, becoming more violent the small being struggled to stand. They found their footing, gradually backing off from the corpse as specks of infected seeds began to collectively gather into the open injury.</p><p>The spirit watched as their form slowly was brought back to life, but not the life they craved. The storm of seeds grew heavier and larger; becoming so cumbersome they began to lean towards the floor. Their body was not made for such stress.</p><p>Inside the once empty eyes came that uncomfortable warmth, under the pressure their head carried streaked a crack along their face.</p><p>Rebirth occurred for the second time, but it was perhaps more horrible than the last. Only did their flaws give them control prior, but in this state they had nothing. Nothing other than eyes to bare into their rising form.</p><p>Legs shaking, gaining strength from the heat churning inside, they stood and drew their own indented aged nail.</p><p>Though their void made body was not entirely capable of speech, a sudden screech radiated from the broken being.</p><p>Their foe that stood afar prepared themself, blade at the ready as the once barren room converted into a arena.</p><p>Despite the lack of mind, they were kin. Sharing the same parents and the same horrors they were subjected to in hopes of perfection. The only difference between them other than physical was that the one who would prosper in battle was the sight their Father dreamed to have raised; the perfect sacrifice.</p><p>A being who did not feel, think or cry. It was something the revived corpse lacked, that ugly excellence. </p><p>The perfection that murdered so many of their siblings, including the one in front of them.</p><p>Despite the situation, they hoped this would finally free them.</p>
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